Petite Mal

Your lips on my lips,

your hips on my hips,

your breasts on my breasts,

our nipples hard-pressed,

as two ripe grapes during wine season


The flicker of your tongue,

the way you bite the edge of my lip when you kiss me,

your mouth agape as you moan into me,

like an Inuit throat singer,

your voice vibrating my ribcage


Your legs a colossal snake forbidding escape,

pupils dilate then decrease, spasms increase,

your uterus grips like a fist w/

its spontaneous contraction,

giving way to intense satisfaction


Light flickers through shadows

from the candle-box on the wall,

one vivid lotus flower blooms

in the middle of the room,

as butterflies twirl

from the ceiling fan,

like frenzied ballerinas


You grip my head, then pull my hair,

forcing my tongue deeper

urging my fingers,

as my entire hand thrusts

rhythmically inside you

like an instrument

I’ve learned all the chords to


When the music’s over,

the butterflies retreat,

the lotus flower floats away;

you lay there

twitching as if you’d been stricken

with epilepsy


I tease you with my touch,

then blow gently

on your naked body,

cooling the fire, which burns so incessantly


Plumes of smoke,

blow circularly,

like two entwined rings,

engulfing the flowers,

that cut a path through the glass,

overlooking this arctic oblivion


I can’t feel myself, can’t feel you, can’t feel the room


I feel on the verge of emotional hypothermia

as you attempt to return the gesture,

knowing in advance it’s not going to lead

anywhere, pushing your hand away,

then rushing to wash you off of me

as if you were tainted blood


I return with a smile & a kiss,

before surrendering to the emptiness,

& the blackness;

the sad twitch of burning souls

among cindery neural synapses.



Filed under Death, Erotic, Poem, poetry, travel, Uncategorized, writing

5 responses to “Petite Mal

  1. So I thought this was going to be a hot sexual Exodus but it was so much more. The sadness, at the end, the dislocated feeling. Genius. Not sure I’ve ever read something like this. To go from the ecstacy to the agony. Almost Impossible to convey. This reminded me of one of my absolute most favorite books; Sunlight On Cold Water. That’s a huge compliment because I adore that book. It has the rapture and grief just like this. You’re so fucking good. Scratch good. You’re so fucking brilliant.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. And I totally relate to the joy and the loss. Few can describe that. You have. SO well.

    Liked by 1 person

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